


A Knight's Oath

by foxseal



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bittersweet, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Princes & Princesses, archaic tone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxseal/pseuds/foxseal
Summary: When the kingdom of Maroovale falls under the terror of a beast, a call is sent out across the kingdom for the recruitment of knights. Though the knight's code dictates that only noblemen can serve the throne, it doesn't stop Daniel from cheating the system, fueled by his wish to protect the kingdom that saved his village when he was only a child.What he doesn't take into account is for Prince Jihoon to live up to the reverent tales of his people, and some. Now Daniel must keep his lie under control, lest it grows into a thorny tangle of complications that neither of them would have the heart to untie.





	A Knight's Oath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [himarisu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/himarisu/gifts).



> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/kvkuchi/status/1032305399100264448) artwork my talented friend made for a commissioner. Thank you, commissioner and artist, for this brilliant piece of art that belongs in a museum...
> 
> Note: In this fic, a kingdom is made up of a few towns/villages, and different kingdoms don't necessarily mean different countries! As per medieval-era sovereignty, modern-day countries may be split into different kingdoms. Though the characters are Korean, my knowledge of medieval settings are limited to the British version, so alas...
> 
> To the one who's activated my peak crazy activity - kei, this one's for you! ilu a lot and yes, will lose schleep to write u fics any day ♥ thank you for letting me talk your ear off whenever I text you about a million and one things (esp this fic...) despite being halfway across the world. I hope you enjoy this a lot even with the extra cheesy parts, because I had so much fun writing it and ngl am developing a soft spot for this AU... anyway here's to our #hwangwink alliance that will know no erosion of time!!!!!! looking forward to losing more schleep with u + our discord calls xo

 

The sun has long set in the village of Mmoxvar, nestled in the valley of two ancient hills in the southwest of Maroovale Kingdom. Anyone walking through its small, winding streets can see that every house has its lights turned off in preparation for a night’s repose.

All except one.

“Is it finished?” Daniel asks excitedly, barely even stepping past the threshold of Sungwoon's small house before he’s throwing off his cloak. “Can I see?”

“Will you keep it _down_ , you’ll wake the entire street!” complains Sungwoon—to hardly any effect, unfortunately, as he himself reprimands Daniel in a not-so-whisper volume. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

Daniel wades through the scrap pieces of paper thrown around the room to peek over Sungwoon’s shoulder, unable to help himself from gasping at the scroll laid out before him.

“Woah,” he marvels. Sungwoon’s exquisite penmanship is constantly the talk of the town, but no one has ever mentioned his prowess in illustration. Resisting the urge to reach out and run a finger down the gold-gilded lines of Sungwoon’s painting on the light-brown paper, Daniel whispers, “It’s beautiful.”

“She’s a beauty, alright,” Sungwoon agrees, stretching his arms out and twisting side-to-side to work out the kinks in his back. “But she’s a damn handful to do, too. Took me ages to get the details right—you owe me big time, Daniel.”

He picks up the scroll and holds it towards the light. The seal printed in the middle of the page bears eerie resemblance to the one tucked in the pocket of Daniel’s waistbag—a royal blue shield, two golden lions on their hind legs facing one another, a silver sword with a dark green hilt that seems to gleam in the dim evening light.

In bold, black ink, the inscription around the seal unmistakably reads: _Daniel, the Sixth Son of Lord Kang of Pledisbury._

“Picked him because… I mean, what’s another son among five, right?” 

“It’s perfect,” Daniel grins. “Sungwoon, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“The agreed payment would do just fine. And you coming back in one piece.” Sungwoon is grinning, but there is genuine concern in his voice. “Are you sure you want to go through with it? It’s not too late to back out now—I won’t charge you a penny for that inscription. You know Prince Jihoon. He’s not going to budge so easily.” Sungwoon looks up at the ceiling. “He may be clever, but he knows his importance too much to let trifling, inconvenient matters get in the way. Especially things like bending the knight’s codes for people like you.” 

“I know,” Daniel sighs. “But… but I have to try.”  

A second of silence passes before Sungwoon swings a leg over his chair to straddle it backwards, chin resting on the backrest as he cocks his head at Daniel. “ _That_ desperate to become a knight, huh?” 

Letting out a chuckle, Daniel drops a small drawstring bag of coins on Sungwoon’s table and rolls the scroll up carefully. “Apparently enough to lie to the Prince about being of noble blood.”

“The rule’s garbage, isn’t it?” Sungwoon munches on the piece of bread leftover on his plate. “I mean, what, does having noble blood make you more righteous or something? It definitely doesn’t make you a better _fighter_ —my god, if you see what some of those high-possy boys do with their swords and shields.” He makes a face. “You’d burst out in tears.” 

“I mean, they have good reasons for the rule. Apparently being sufficiently rich makes you less likely to rebel against the King.”

“My arse,” laughs Sungwoon. “Greed is greed, doesn’t matter what background you’re from.” 

Daniel doesn’t say he agrees, but doesn’t say the contrary, either. He’s not stupid—he knows there’s truth in the statement. “Yeah, well, maybe one day things will change. But most likely not today, so,” he waves the scroll near his face, “I’m taking this with me.”

“Fine, fine. Got everything?”

“Yup! Even wore my mother’s bracelet,” he laughs. “For good luck. Thanks again, old friend.”

“You’re welcome. And hey!” Sungwoon shouts after him just as Daniel heads towards the door. He turns around, only to see something being thrown at him—he catches it swiftly with one hand, and realises that it’s his small drawstring bag, as heavy as when he’d first put it down. 

He looks up in surprise to see Sungwoon smiling at him. “Keep the change. You’re going on a long journey—you’re going to need it, pal.”

“Sungwoon—“ 

“Don’t say it! Just treat me when you come back as a knight in shining armour, hm?”

 

 

* * *

 

“How is he?”

“Same as ever, sire. Still unconscious.”

Jihoon tries to avert his gaze from the court physician’s face to the bed where his father lies, pale and unmoving yet miraculously still breathing—though whether it’s for better or worse, Jihoon can’t tell.

He looks away again. It hurts too much to watch. “Please… fix him a draught that will ease the pain, just… anything.”

Jihoon hates the desperation so clear in his voice, but knows that if anyone is to be trusted with this weak side of him, it would be Daehwi, who has become more than just a physician to him over the years, and has grown closer to him as one would a friend.

Daehwi bows his head slightly—he looks troubled. “I will do all I can, sire, as I have always done.”

“Yes, of course. Good. Thank you.” Jihoon says, trying to catch his breath again. “I’m sorry for being a little… overbearing.”

“Please, no need for apologies. I understand,” Daehwi waves a hand. “You have assumed the role of a king during a quite unpleasant time.”

“Unpleasant is putting it mildly,” mutters Jihoon. “We’ve never seen the likes of it before. I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Is that not what the meeting with the barons and knights is for?” Daehwi’s smile is small, but reassuring nonetheless. “One step at a time. And know that you don’t bear the responsibility for the runnings of the entire kingdom—it is what your underlings are for.” 

“I can never tell,” whispers Jihoon. “If I’m doing too much or I’ve sat around too idly.” 

“Make time for yourself. A king who runs himself to the ground can’t be expected to uphold an entire kingdom.”

He lets the words sink in before breaking out into a smile, walking over to jostle Daehwi with his shoulder. “Keep at it and I may have to reassign you as court poet, Lee Daehwi.”

“Ah! Unfortunately for you, it’d take more than Maroovale’s knights to pry me away from my potions.”

“I’m sure,” laughs Jihoon. Not realising he’s been wringing his silk gloves the entire time, he drops his hands to his side and clears his throat. “I must get going now. Again, please inform me of any—developments.”

“Absolutely, sire.” Daehwi bows again. “And good luck.”

 

* * *

 

The throne room is as opulent and palatial as those who’ve had the good fortune to visit it described. The ceiling is adorned with paintings spanning its expansive domed surfaces, making Daniel’s neck ache as he tilts his head back to take in the entirety of its grandeur. Tapestries are hung all along the walls leading up to the throne, their gleaming surfaces an indication of their origins as the best velvet and silk Daniel will probably ever come across in his life. They are all emblazoned with mascots of extreme intricacy and detail—seals, family crests of arms, the Park crest embroidered right in the middle—and all are sewn on so meticulously he wonders how many hours it must have taken to complete. Golden, jewelled ornaments decorate the dais on which the throne sits; they are also hung above it and adorn the steps, each and every one polished to an unreal glint.

But even the brightest jewel pales in comparison to the man standing in front of the throne.

Of course, tales of Prince Jihoon’s looks have found spaces both in the small talks between dames and heated debates by bandits in the tavern. For something that is so frequently brought up across the Kingdom for many years, it seems to be a topic that knows no weariness. At that very moment, however, when Daniel stops by the foot of the staircase and looks up at the Prince—as just one men among many—he realises that no words will ever do his beauty justice.

Basked in the afternoon sunlight cascading through the tinted glass windows, Prince Jihoon stands in his kaleidoscopic spotlight, the circlet around his dark brown hair a halo in the illuminated room. He appears soft at first glance, but it is clear that his regal stance alone imbues an aura of authority that even the proudest of man would be brought to his knees in subjection. This is the impression Daniel has of the prince as he stands before the throne in the carpeted aisle—and looking around at the mesmerised faces around him, he thinks he is not alone in harbouring such sentiments.

He presses a hand against his chest, closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. _Be still._

It’s difficult to gauge exact numbers without twisting around and looking like a bumbling fool, but Daniel thinks there must be at least fifty men lined up in front of the throne in rows at the moment—fifty strong, healthy, combat-trained men. All from noble families from across the Kingdom eager for a chance to be of service to the highly-esteemed Prince Jihoon; to serve and protect the Kingdom with their _lives_.

And Daniel hopes to Heavens he does not lose to any of them.

There is no preamble; they all bow in courtesy, and the Prince tilts his head in returned greeting before he begins to speak. 

“For many years we have been misled to believe the last of the amphipteres has been slain, and that our Kingdom has finally found peace. Yet, as I’m sure you all know, Maroovale is once again under attack by this evil creature. It has been wreaking havoc in the outskirting villages, has taken away beloved family members and struck deep fear in the people’s hearts.

“Brave gentlemen of Maroovale, I must inform you that we are dealing with a magical creature—meaning that if, in the past, I only take the best as knights before,” his eyes sweep the men in before him, “Now I will only be taking those who come close to perfection.”

The large throne room, usually echoing with low murmurs and whispers between speeches, is now deadly silent, all those present enthralled by the sternness in Prince Jihoon’s voice.

“I believe you are all familiar with the requirements of being a knight, and at least _think_ you have the skills required to be one since you are all here.” He turns around briefly to settle on the throne. His back is ramrod straight and his eyes, though curved in soft shapes, are sharp with attention. “Please present yourselves.”

Of course, Daniel had expected a public self introduction, but he didn’t expect the atmosphere to be such a tense one—call him naive, but he expected a small banquet, tables around which prospective knights from all over the country may be able to mingle and get to know each other a little personally before being addressed by the prince, who would try his best to create a relaxed and jovial atmosphere.

But he knows now that the congregation of the kingdom’s finest nobles is not a cause for celebration—not when the entire Maroovale is in deep, critical danger.

One by one nobles approach the steps to the throne to kneel and introduce themselves, but Daniel can scarcely hear any of them—not when the gravity of what he is about to do finally sets in and his fingers start to shake around the roll of parchment he’s holding, suddenly heavy in his hand.

“Next candidate.”

There is no one else in line and only then does Daniel realise it is finally his turn, having hung back for so long to be the last one to present himself. Stepping forward, he lets the guard take the scroll of parchment away from him while he bends down on one knee and bows his head low, struggling to maintain his balance when his rapid heartbeat makes him shake all over.  

“Your Majesty, an honour.” His steady voice surprises even himself. Speaking slowly to control the accent that often jumps out unintentionally, he continues, “I am Daniel, the sixth son of Lord Kang, of Pledisbury.”

“The sixth?” Jihoon’s tone belies his surprise, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it, as he glances at the unrolled parchment beside him. “Neither my father nor I have visited those lands in many years, but I was… not aware that he had a sixth son.”

“My father speaks very little of me,” Daniel’s heart beats rapidly and he has to keep his eyes on the ground to keep his voice steady. “He does not believe I possess any outstanding traits.” 

Jihoon clicks his tongue. “Then you’re wasting my time by coming here speaking of becoming a knight—“

“No!” says Daniel, before hurriedly adding, “Please, sire. One chance to fight a candidate, or even fifty, is all I need.”

“A candidate?” His tone is amused, but with a slight danger to it. “Noble gentleman, you will not face any candidate in this test.”

“Sire?” Daniel looks up in confusion. Jihoon stands up, and the question in Daniel’s throat dies.

“You will only have one match, and you will be facing me alone.”

 

 

* * *

 

No one’s told Daniel that Prince Jihoon is undefeated in sword fights.

Perhaps he should blame himself for becoming complacent and falling into the misconception that the Prince’s captivating, fairy-like, almost _divine_ looks contribute little to his mastery of warfare techniques. Yet this very mastery is all Daniel can think of now, as Jihoon circles him like a lion trapping his prey, ready to strike.  

If it is worshipful awe Daniel had for the Prince in the throne room, then here in the arena, there is only fearful respect.

Jihoon is nimble and quick on his feet the way many knights aren’t—his feints are frequent, but expertly done that his opponents fall for them every time. Daniel is no exception to these tricks, stumbling forwards whenever the Prince makes to strike, only to dodge at the last second—and it is only thanks to his quick reflexes that he manages to roll away, missing Jihoon’s sword on the ground by a few inches.

The crowd seated around the arena cheers; Daniel scrambles for his sword and only manages to get back up before the Prince's sword swings at him again.

His shield is useless—Jihoon is relentless in his remise whenever Daniel deflects a strike, and intelligent in the manner with which he picks out weak spots in his opponent’s defence—like driving his weapon near Daniel's shin where the shield just barely misses it.

If there’s one thing Daniel is good at, it’s attacking with power—however, it’s one thing to fight a friend like Sungwoon on a leisurely practice day and another to be dueling with the _prince_. Despite Jihoon clearly giving Daniel a fight with all he’s got, Daniel’s brain is addled with the horrible possibility that he may very much harm the prince.

Suddenly Jihoon crowds up against him to start a series of beat attacks—swift, practiced movements that Daniel only barely manages to keep up with. He could have dodged, slashed at the prince’s feet; but he doesn’t, is scared of hurting Jihoon, and falls back into defensive position—he is shuffling backwards and backwards until his back hits the concrete wall of the arena, both him and the crowd letting out a groan.

Their swords find each other’s with a loud clang. With trembling hands, they each push against their crossed weapons, clearly with different intentions; Jihoon to finally back Daniel into a corner, and Daniel holding off just enough to keep Jihoon’s blade away from his own chest, but not hard enough to push the prince away.

In this position, he realises how close their faces are—just a few inches between them—and Daniel can see the embers burning in Jihoon’s eyes.

“If you are, by any chance, holding back from making use of your _full strength_ ,” Jihoon hisses. “Know that I will be deeply offended—and when I am deeply offended, Daniel, I do not show mercy.”

It takes Daniel a second to consider how serious Jihoon may be, and another second for him to decide that _yes_ , Jihoon is alarmingly serious.

Something snaps inside him—a moment later Daniel is using all the strength in his arms and back to shove the sword at his face away, only to pull the prince down by his chainlink armour. Then Jihoon is falling forwards, losing his balance—he would have picked himself up flawlessly if Daniel hadn’t fallen onto the ground as well, and grabbed Jihoon’s arm to twist his sword out his hands. He rolls, tosses the sword to the other side of the arena and hears the crowd gasp when he finds himself kneeling, the prince’s body between his parted knees, his face pressed to the ground and Daniel’s blunt sword poised for attack at the point between his shoulder blades.

Everything is silent.

For one horrible second Daniel thinks he’s really done for—has he broken the Prince’s neck? Smashed his face in? God knows what can happen when he doesn’t control his strength, he’s had his fair share of playground accidents to dread the worst. He clambers off the prince’s body with laboured breath, head spinning in panic and hands trembling.

“Your Highness?” 

A groan, and then the prince is heaving himself off the ground with his arms. The left side of his face is brown with dirt; there’s a deep scratch on his cheek, perhaps from the fall or from Daniel’s sword, and his face is a stony mask of unreadable expression. He walks to the opposite end of the arena to pick his sword up and to place it back in its sheath. Daniel has no idea what to do now—they weren’t allowed to watch other candidates fight, and he briefly wonders if any of them ended up with the prince driven down into the ground of the arena with a good portion of the upper town residents watching. Panic rises within him and he shuffles to his feet with apologies on the tip of his tongue.

“Your Highness, I beg your pardon—I was—discourteous, I acted inappropriately—" 

“Kang Daniel,” Jihoon interrupts, his voice stern. “Get on your knees.” 

He does so immediately, squeezing his eyes shut as he hangs his head in resignation—in wait for the worst to come. Royalty can be merciful, but mercy only goes so far, after all.

Jihoon unsheathes his sword and Daniel bites his tongue— _God, if beheading is the plan you have for me, then at least have mercy to have me beheaded in private—_

Two gentle taps on his shoulders—first on his right, then his left—and Daniel thinks this can’t be it, he must already be in heaven right now, perhaps he’s been spared the pain of death—

“Arise, Sir Daniel,” Jihoon’s voice echoes around the arena, and Daniel hears the crowd rise with the command. “Knight of Maroovale.”

The crowd cheers as Daniel pulls himself upright on shaky legs, blinking in disbelief at the prince who is now grinning from ear to ear, happiness so genuine that Daniel lets himself believe there is some pride in there, too.

“Congratulations,” he says. “And don’t you ever apologise again for putting up a good fight.”

 

(Later that evening, the other ten chosen candidates pat him on the back and say, in hushed whispers, that he was the only noble to have been knighted on the spot. Daniel tries not to be too pleased with himself, but doesn’t succeed.)

 

 

* * *

 

The courtyard of the castle stretches just below the Princes’ bedroom window—Jihoon is leaning against the wood-paneled glass, looking down in a half-stupor as he is wont to do after a particularly long day. It's beginning to empty out as the castle’s guests file off for the banquet’s grand lunch—everyone but a lone figure, who flits around striking conversations with any and all that pass the square, piquing Jihoon’s interest. For one of noble birth, Daniel seems to carry around with him a sense of naivety that speaks of plain upbringing.

“Jinyoung?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Tell the scribe to write Lord Kang a correspondence, will you? Congratulating him for the knighting of his sixth son.”

“But sire… we’ve never sent congratulatory letters to the knights’ families before.”

“I know.” He pauses, mouth set in a thin line. “I... simply wish to make sure of something.” 

Jinyoung is silent, and Jihoon thinks he’s figured it out. But instead of pressing further, Jinyoung only bows and says, “As you wish, sire."

 

* * *

 

Daniel itches to write a message back home—just a simple one, a few words long _._ But correspondence from a noble to a peasant country family would not go unnoticed, and after coming this far Daniel thinks it would be selfish of him to take such risk. So instead, he composes the messages in his head:

 

1\. He wants to tell his mother back home that although the training regime that the prince himself has drawn up and taken to overseeing is tough, he’s being fed well every day, so she needs not worry.

 

“We begin training today.”

 

2\. He wants to tell Sungwoon that he was right—it isn’t easy, living with a heart that’s threatening to jump out of you every second for fear of being discovered.

 

“Remember to feel the weight of each blade in your hand; think about their balance and grip as you’re swinging.”

 Jihoon places a sword in Daniel’s palm, and immediately he can feel the grooves of the hilt fit his palm perfectly. He takes a swing, and the blade cuts through the air with little resistance, and he must have let out a childish noise of astonishment because Jihoon is throwing him a knowing look from across the blacksmith’s bench, as if the merits of a good sword is a secret he shares only with Daniel.

 

3\. He wants to tell them both of how much fun he’s having with his friends and the prince.

 

“When you’re picking out a sword, don’t be distracted by their opulence—rather, by their convenience and usefulness.” 

“So a little like when you’re picking out the ladies,” someone calls out from the back of the line and the group breaks off in a peter of laughter, but Jihoon’s face is stone-cold when he turns to face the speaker.

“And it is during idle conversations as these that I truly realise a combat is an insufficient test of character.” His tone is chilly. “I don’t care how great of a fighter you are—no knight of Maroovale may harbour an ugly heart. Speak of dames in such manner once more and you _will_ find yourself in the stocks.”

The idea of getting pelted with rotten tomatoes and eggs that have gone sour immediately quietens the rowdy crowd.

 

4\. He wants to tell them both of both his admiration for Prince Jihoon’s commanding presence and the wisdom he possesses that seems to transcend his age. How there isn’t only justice in the young prince’s mind, but also kindness and a genuine care for his subjects and those he rules. But it seems redundant to admit to such feelings—of _course_ he admires Jihoon. He’s the _prince_ , it would be strange to _not_ to be in constant awe of royal blood. So he scraps the message and chalks up the sensations he feels whenever Jihoon’s around to natural veneration for his ruler.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nights are quiet in the palace grounds, but the silence only makes Daniel even more restless. The truth is, more often than not there is still pent-up energy left in him; jitters he hasn’t quite worked out of his system that he often burns in late-night practices back home. It’s only gotten worse since he began his time as a knight—watching the noblemen fight, he realises that not all of them were brought up spoiled and in comfort. Many are ruthless fighters, skills ranging from precise attacks to brutish defense, and Daniel would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel uneasy at best, and undeserving or inferior at worst. Such insecurities only makes his restlessness more acute, but being unfamiliar with his new residence, he hasn’t dared step out of his room past midnight in the first few days.

Now, a week and a half in, he finally feels comfortable enough to slip past the (pathetically lax) night guards in pursuit of a small alcove in the palace’s West gardens, the one he discovered on a horse ride practice patrol with the other knights. It’s surrounded by thick shrubbery, almost invisible unless sought out and he has taken to regarding it as his very own private corner of the palace. 

Except being proven wrong seems to be a recurring phenomenon for Daniel, nowadays.

When he pushes the curtain of leaves apart and finds the prince aiming his bow and arrow at him, Daniel nearly leaps out of his skin—he clumsily stumbles back and rattles off a stream of profuse apologies.

“F-forgive me—sire, I didn’t mean—“

“What are you doing here?”

The prince's tone is neither friendly nor completely hostile, but he hasn’t put his weapon down so Daniel lifts his hands in surrender instead.

“Apologies, Your Highness, I thought—thought ’twas was unoccupied. I came here to practice.”

A pause, then the prince lowers his bow and arrow (to Daniel’s great relief) with a curious look on his face. “You’re talking strangely. Are you feeling alright?”

The change in approach from confrontational to concerned gives Daniel a tiny whiplash, but he manages to keep himself under enough control to restore his proper eloquence back. In his agitation, he’d let his home accent slip out.

“Yes, sire, just a little surprised, is all.”

Not thoroughly convinced, the prince only nods slowly in response before spinning at breakneck speed to shoot an arrow right into the middle of a tree trunk some ways in front of him. Hidden in the darkness, Daniel can’t see where the arrow has flown but from the solid _thump_ resounding through the clearing, he knows Jihoon has hit his target spot on.  

“You receive training on a daily basis—some would say it’s _too_ much training. You’ve already been knighted; isn’t that what you came here for?” Jihoon places another arrow on his bowstring. “What are you so worried about? Has my training regime been inadequate?”

“Definitely not—Your Highness, I mean no disrespect to the training I receive by coming here. I simply…” he blinks, trying to will down the rush of embarrassment he feels rising up despite the darkness. “I feel I am undeserving to even receive your level of training, sire, and simply wish to make up for the difference during the night. I do not wish to hold anyone back with my incompetence.”

The silence that follows is a little uncomfortable, but when the prince finally replies his voice is softer. “No need to be so tense and bothered, that’s exactly what training is for. No one is lagging behind at this point and, well, it may be too early to say so but… you are one of the few fighters who holds great potential, Daniel. Do not sell yourself short.”

The prince's change in speech to a more relaxed manner catches Daniel off-guard, but nothing overshadows the burst of pride swelling in his chest at the compliment.

“You are too generous, sire.” 

“What were you hoping to do if you practiced out here all on your own, anyway?” asks Jihoon as he places the arrows back in their quiver.

“Work on my swordsmanship, and my aim… perhaps with, uh, trees, or dummies that I meant to build sometime…”

“Not much fun to fighting an inanimate dummy, is there?” Jihoon’s tone is casual, almost indifferent. "Since we’re both here, how about we fight each other?”

“Oh,” says Daniel dumbly. “Sire… I wouldn’t want to impose…” 

“You’re not. We’re both up and it’s a waste of a good night’s sleep if we don’t get a real practice out of it. I think you’ll make a better opponent than a tree,” says Jihoon, this time with a twinkle in his eye that even his nonchalant tone can’t hide. “And so will I, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Daniel says, still a little shell-shocked. “Yes, of course.” 

Jihoon wastes no time in pulling him to the middle of the clearing and beginning their spar, just as he’d done in their afternoon practices out on the fields. Daniel finds that here, with him as the sole audience and surrounded by the pitch black of night, Jihoon laughs a little easier, and his movements—while still intelligent and precise—are less calculated, his limbs work a little looser and his movements are fluid, so fluid Daniel would believe it if someone told him the prince was dancing.

They lose track of time and Daniel crawls into bed only barely an hour before the sun breaks through the morning sky—but he wakes up again feeling lighter and more refreshed than he’s ever had in his life.

 

 

* * *

 

Their midnight training sessions become somewhat of a routine.

Daniel’s meant to find an alternative practice spot, he really has—but he isn’t exactly given much time to explore the palace grounds to find a suitably-hidden nook that would work just as well. Moreover, Jihoon hasn’t shown any reservations so far to his showing up in the very same alcove each night, even going so far as to ask him if he was feeling okay when he overslept from exhaustion and consequently failed to wake up for a quick jousting session with the prince. 

“I’m fine, my lord,” Daniel whispers back, head hung low in the pretence of examining the floorboards. He doesn’t want the other knights noticing the prince talking to him so privately—it feels wrong, somehow, especially when he’s reminded who he really is. “Was just a little tired, after all.”

“Shall I be expecting you tonight?” The prince presses, seemingly uncaring of what other people may think, seeing them talk in the corner of the armoury shed like this. “I mean… I was expecting a match. But if you’re too tired, I understand.”

A million questions run through Daniel’s head, but in his confusion there is only one stand-out answer he can give. “I will be there,” he reaffirms. “I promise.” 

Sometimes he forgets that he’s a country boy, playing the pretense of a knight who’s sworn to fighting a magical beast that has rampaged the city, most likely at the expense of his own life. The horrors of reality, the truth and the castle seem mute and unimportant when he gets lost in the idle talks he exchanges with the prince, about impossible tales they’ve heard of while growing up.

“Someone told me once that the marshes in the East are home to red doves,” Daniel says one night when they sit sipping on the cold water they’ve collected from a stream nearby. “They’re supposed to bring good luck and joy.”

“Never heard of that story. Native to your village?”

Daniel gulps the water down, then shrugs, hoping like mad Pledisbury has some creative folklore to tell. “I guess so.” 

“My father once told me there was a dungeon where we locked up a magical dragon, right there beneath the treasure vaults.”

“Wait,” Daniel blinks. “The castle has treasure vaults?” 

Jihoon grins back, teeth white and eyes mirthful in the darkness. “I guess I have to kill you now, huh?” When Daniel laughs (perhaps a little too loudly, considering the time) Jihoon shushes him and gestures for him to come closer—so he does, with his heart beating a mile a minute. “Apparently the dragon escaped two, or two and a half hundred years ago. Everyone said a magician broke him free.”

“And what happened?” Even if this was nothing but a fairytale, an exercise the prince engages in to make up for lost childhood, Daniel is more than happy to play along. “Was the dragon evil?”

“Yes, it absolutely wrecked on the city. Much, much worse than anything anyone’s ever seen. The knights of Maroovale chased it away, but didn't manage to kill it. Strangely, its non-murder and banishment brought peace and harmony to the kingdom, and people have always been suspicious of it. They say it’s a curse, really, a false feeling of contentment that the dragon wants everyone to fall into before it strikes again—sooner or later, the kingdom will be faced with an even more terrifying danger.” Here, Jihoon laughs, but Daniel has a feeling it isn’t just a joke to him. “Maybe we’ve reached that time, now, with the amphiptere and all.”

Daniel is addicted to the way the shallow pants of the prince intermingle with his own in the empty space of the clearing, both trying to catch their breath after a particularly intense jousting session. That night, they’ve decided to take on the challenge of sparring with unfamiliar weapons—a mace for him and a flail for the prince, a weapon which scared Daniel to no end.

“These weapons are—extremely terrifying, but hard to control,” comments Daniel when their backs meet the damp grass. He’s holding the blunted bronze mace in his right hand, sore now from trying to overpower Jihoon’s shielding manoeuvres (he succeeded, but only just). The weapon glints dangerously in the pale moonlight. “I can’t imagine bringing such _bulky_ things to war.”

“You don’t, unless you’re going to spend much of the time on horseback. If you ride past an enemy, it’s easier to swing a blow as your horse is riding past.”

Even after he’s lost count of their midnight encounters, and even after their interaction has clearly become less rigid than usual, Daniel still hasn’t lost his admiration and respect for the prince—if anything, he only finds such emotions heightened with every moment spent together, now tinged with a familiarity that throws him off at times. From the way the prince so willingly shares his knowledge, to the way he understands Daniel’s concerns and listens with intent his every word, or laughs at the stories he tells, Daniel finds it hard to keep seeing the prince as _royalty_ , as someone meant to be revered and not touched.

The admiration and respect is evolving into something else—something much more intimate, much more personal than normal reverence, but Daniel can’t quite put a finger on it just yet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sire?”

“Hm?” It’s only when he looks up to answer Daehwi’s query does Jihoon realise he’s been humming. He doesn’t even listen to the orchestra much. “Yes, Daehwi?” 

“A guard told me they’ve seen you in the gardens past midnight, and were wondering if you had troubles sleeping.” Daehwi’s voice is calm, but his eyes are twinkling in secret glee. “Shall I concoct a sleeping draught for you, or…?” 

“That won’t be necessary, Daehwi,” he waves a hand, grinning. “I’ve never felt better!”

“I see,” he muses. “The wonders late-night practices can do, hm?”

At the mention of practice, Jihoon’s thought immediately wanders off to Daniel and how his genuine enthusiasm and curiosity has made it easier for Jihoon to forget about being Prince of Maroovale for a couple of hours each night, and pretend he is just another boy in the kingdom enjoying the company of a friend. He can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about possibly imposing himself on the man, with his insistence to meet almost every night—he feels restless otherwise, and is left wanting to spend more time together the following days.

It is not Daniel’s capability in swordfighting nor the toothy grin he likes to wear so much that Jihoon is drawn to (although truthfully, the latter plays a big part). For a long time since he’s turned a new leaf in his life, Jihoon has found someone whose heart is warm to be around, who admires him not for his royal blood but for his intelligence and his values. His favourite moments are when Daniel slips into candid conversations, seemingly forgetful of the fact that he’s talking to the future King of Maroovale, and Jihoon finds himself addicted to the easy companionship the man offers during a low point in Jihoon’s life.

“You have no idea,” is all he lets Daehwi in on, before he picks up his papers with a smile and walks off to his roundtable meeting, a small skip in his step.

 

 

* * *

 

“Call me Jihoon,” says the prince, cutting past Daniel’s absent trance as they lie on their backs, hands under their heads as they trace the stars out with their eyes. 

Stars forgotten, Daniel stares at the prince in disbelief. “…I beg your pardon, sire?”  

“Don’t. Call me that. Sire, my lord, Your Highness, or worse, _the prince_. Just… please just call me Jihoon.”

 Daniel’s heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his throat. “Are you… are you sure?” 

“Yes. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I weren’t.”

It’s hard to keep the smile down, and not for the first time Daniel is glad for the cover the darkness provides. “Jihoon… may I ask a question?”

Jihoon breathes out, contentment clear in his voice. “You may.”

“Why do you come out here at such an hour?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about this earlier,” he chuckles.

“Didn’t feel like it was my place to. Yet, anyway.”

“Good call, I probably wouldn’t have told you, either,” admits Jihoon, shifting in his position and letting out a heavy sigh. “I come out here mostly because… well, I find it hard to sleep.” 

Daniel knows he’s being greedy, but something tells him Jihoon is letting him be so. “Why?”

“My father.” Daniel’s never heard the prince in so much sadness as in those two words. “He’s not doing very well.”

Jihoon has assumed the role of a monarch for so long it’s easy to forget the throne isn’t his yet. Immediately, Daniel feels horrible for bringing the topic up—a thorn undoubtedly wedged permanently in the prince’s mind as he goes about his daily business; business that isn’t mean to be his, but ones that he must bear unless he wants to disappoint both the kingdom and the figure he’s looked up to the most.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I did say you could ask a question—but now it’s my turn.” Jihoon shifts on his side, head resting on his hand as he looks down at Daniel still on his back. Like this, they are so close—too close for it to be appropriate, perhaps, but no matter how loud his thoughts are screaming at him Daniel finds he cannot, _does not want to_ move. 

“Why did you want to become a knight?”

Now is probably the time to lie, Daniel thinks, but he takes one look at Jihoon’s face and knows he can’t tell any more lies to this man than he already has—not when Jihoon is looking at him with such curiosity, open and sincere in a way Daniel has never seen in the throne room nor the practice fields. 

“Was struck with an inspiration early, I guess.”

“Really? What happened?”

“It’s… not a pretty story,” says Daniel, gaze flitting to Jihoon’s again only for him to lower it a second later.

“I’m not here for dressed-up speech, Daniel,” replies Jihoon, tone amused. "I’ve had enough of that at the roundtable, and you are not one of my ministers. I want you to speak your mind.”

 _What am I to you, really?_ is the follow-up question Daniel itches to ask, but thinks better of it.

“Well… My village was attacked once by a gang of bandits trying to raid our stocks. We were held captive in our homes like prisoners while the bandits ransacked the entire village in search of loot—except it felt a lot worse. We weren’t given food to live on, and some of the things they did to...to the women and children...“ Daniel draws in a sharp breath, the memory like a broken glass in his mind. He runs a hand through his hair, tries to dislodge the feeling. “It lasted for nearly five days. My mum and I, we were locked up in our rooms and we thought we were going to die. It was hard to just breathe. I was barely six but I still remember thinking my next breath might as well be my last because it was so difficult to take each one.” He takes a breath. “Then… Someone must have escaped somehow, or managed to run away as the bandits came in. Whoever it was, they sent word to the palace begging for help, and though our land is at least a whole day’s ride away at normal pace the knights arrived in a matter of hours. They decimated the bandits. Every single one of them. ”

Everything is still so vivid in Daniel’s mind—the blinding light from a door that hasn’t been opened in days; the sharp pain in his chest as fresh air rushed in; the uncontrollable sobbing of his mother as she stumbles out in her ragged dress, kneeling by the knights’ feet as the ground grows wet with her tears.

“They saved us. On that day I knew I was in their debt, yet at the same time I wanted to _be_ them.” He laughs, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, uh, _want_ , since I’m still here.” 

Jihoon’s been silent for a while—not the bored, spaced-out silence some knights are met with during a night of particularly stale banter. This silence is more pensive, a look of concentration in his eyes. Daniel finds himself mesmerised. 

“They must’ve been some bandits, to be able to hold nobles captive like that,” he says quietly. “Were your guards awfully outnumbered?” 

And this is where his lies matter. Swallowing the lump suddenly in his throat, Daniel shrugs. “Must have been.”

“And your family tried to defend themselves?” Jihoon stops, suddenly, flustered, “I mean, not to—I did not mean that as an insult, I’m sure they tried their best—"

“I hate to break it to you,” laughs Daniel, “But nobles usually aren’t the best fighters around."

“Yet here you are.”

The statement doesn’t exactly say much, but Daniel still finds it hard to hide the grin on his face as he hums in acknowledgement, picking at the grass around his feet just to have an excuse to look away. They spend several minutes in silence like that, feeling oddly companionable despite the cold air and lack of conversation, and Daniel wishes the night could stretch on forever. 

“Do you think.. well, when you’re a ruler—do you think you’d be like your father?” 

Jihoon mulls over this for a while, drawing air in through his teeth and answering slowly. “I think we’re quite similar in the way we execute matters of state—we find a goal first and foremost, then think of ways to achieve it. Some would be gambles, some would be safe plays. But on the other hand.. there _are_ some rules that never sat well with me. Rules that I’d like to change.”  

Daniel’s heart skips a beat. “Which ones?”

“I can’t think of the top off my head right now,” admits Jihoon, and while Daniel knows this isn’t the truth (no one of Jihoon’s ability would forget such ambitions), he nods in reply anyway, albeit with much disappointment. “But I don’t know even know if it’s the wise path to take. I could be viewed as a tyrant who bends the rules at his whim, or worse… As a king who rules only with his heart.”

“Jihoon,” he says slowly. “You’d never be seen as such. You are… one of the most just and merciful ruler Maroovale has ever seen."

“Wow, a royal insider, are you?” grins Jihoon, though it quickly slips off his face as he bites on his lip nervously. “But ruling with a heart—it isn’t wise. My duty is to the people, and the people need stability, assurance, safety. I cannot be seen to take advantage of my assumed temporary position on the throne—my father was a just king, and for his son to change his administration carelessly… what would the people think of me? I have to show resolution. Even if that means sticking to some rules for a little longer.”

“At least while you’re still prince?”

“Yes. For as long as I am not in full control of the throne yet, I must uphold my father’s values. In his honour, and to win the trust of the people.”

“And then when you’re king?” 

The way Jihoon stares at Daniel makes him believe that they’ve only been talking about one rule from the start, and that they’re sharing a deep secret together—but it’s impossible, of course. If Jihoon knew Daniel’s secret, after all, he would not be here right now.

Jihoon gives him a sad smile. “You forget that the king is still my father. I always dread the day I have to take the throne.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Daniel jolts in surprise when he feels a cold hand on his warm face lifting it up from where it’s bowed down over the grass beneath his feet. “Don’t be. You’re the only one I’ve been able to talk about this with, so. Thank you.”

To any unassuming passerby, the pair can be mistaken as two aristocratic boys engaged in what seems to be a focused, intimate discussion. What they cannot see, at a glance, is that the naive-looking boy is the prince of a sprawling kingdom in one of the richest countries of the Earth, and that he is now laying his heart bare, so vulnerably, in a way that he has never bared it to anyone before.

A story for a story. The thought makes Daniel smile—it’s addicting, the feeling of exchanging something with Jihoon. It makes him want to share so much more.

“You—you are amazing,” Daniel says softly. “Do they tell you that often enough?”

Jihoon scoffs, and means to look disinterested when Daniel can see, plain as day, the pink that sweeps across his cheek as he turns away. “Says you,” he mumbles, barely audible.

“What’s that? I couldn’t catch it.”

“Never mind.” Jihoon clears his throat. “You won’t be praising me like that once I’ve taken your sword for the fifteenth time. Come on, on your feet.”

“And here I thought we were starting to become sentimental,” grumbles Daniel, but at that moment he realises he’s never known what true contentment feels like before.

 

* * *

 

Daniel desperately wants to write to his mother.

He wants to tell her that even if Jihoon was not a prince, he would still accompany him anywhere, even to the lair of that evil dragon Jihoon once told him about. He wants to tell her that even if Jihoon was not a prince, he would still be in constant awe of the man; would still laugh at every joke he makes, only to be rendered silent when they sit under the moonlight and Jihoon’s face is illuminated by the soft glow Daniel likes to see so much on him. That if Daniel’s to stay within the palace indefinitely, he wouldn’t mind at all.

He wants to ask her how likely it would be for them to have conversations that aren’t shrouded by the night. He wants to ask her whether it’s right for him to feel something ugly twist in his chest whenever the prince laughs at someone _else’s_ jokes; if it’s okay for him to be unimpressed by Knight Jaehwan’s singing that the prince seems to enjoy listening to so much. After all, no amount of singing can make up for the atrocious footwork Jaehwan’s showcased in the mini-tourneys they’ve started holding every Wednesday.

Daniel wants to tell her that sometimes he wishes, selfishly, that Jihoon was not a prince at all.

But as always, he composes such messages only in his head, kicks it to a corner of his mind and wraps himself up in a blanket of exhaustion, before blowing the candle out and settling into bed, trying to push Jihoon’s laughter out of his consciousness.

Only after his heart stop racing does he let himself fall into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The amphiptere comes attacking when they least expect it.

They are running—sprinting so quickly their chests hurt and their legs ache, but they can't stop. In the distance, they can hear the toll bells ringing out across the citadel but it doesn't matter anymore—the knights are without their prince to give them instructions—doubtless they must be terribly confused and panicked over his disappearance. The amphiptere ambushed them just as they were crossing a river to the rural corners of the Kingdom, and in the panic that ensues, the knights have chased the beast away at the expense of separating their company in two. Now they are riding across the lands in pursuit of the noises the creature is making—but the forest is thick and misleading with its twists and turns. There is no way of telling anyone that the amphiptere has trapped the very man they are looking for in the eastern villages where they were patroling just moments ago.

“Daniel!”

At least he is not alone.

Daniel breaks through the foliage on his right and crashes through the amphiptere’s side with his shield. The beast screeches, a terrible, high-pitched noise and bats its wings to fly upwards, but they both know they are nowhere close to the end. 

Breathless, Jihoon hauls Daniel up off of the ground as they scramble deeper into the forest. “How—where did it come from?”

“I don’t know!”

Another screech before the amphiptere swoops in—Jihoon rolls onto the ground and just narrowly misses the monster's claw tearing through the bark of the tree Jihoon has been running towards.

He looks up, disoriented, to see Daniel jumping in front of him with his sword poised, dodging the sharp scaly hide of the beast as it settles on its hind legs ready to pounce.

Something cuts through the air with a _swish_ , and Jihoon gasps in relief when he sees the arrow he’d haphazardly let loose pierce the amphiptere’s right eye. It cries a horrible shriek of pain and lands on its forelegs, shaking its giant head to try and dislodge the arrow. Jihoon uses this time to pull at Daniel’s armour, dragging him along as they stumble deeper into the thicket of the forest to try and lure the creature away from the villages.

“Our knights have dealt some blows before we got separated, but it’s not enough,” Daniel wheezes as he crawls out of the shrubbery. “We have to go for its chest—I can see the soft hide. Vulnerable spot.”

“Daniel, don’t be stupi—“

But Daniel is already charging forwards and away from the dense growth. He dips into the animals’ blind spot on its right, ducking down when it’s spiky tails swings past Daniel’s head, almost cleanly decapitating the knight.

“For the love of—“ Jihoon curses, fumbling with his bow and arrow with shaking heads. “If he'd just listen for one second…”

Trying to aim for the beast’s other eye is difficult when it’s thrashing its head around in an attempt to locate the intruder on its body, even more so at this distance. Daniel is leaping past its claws now, drawing ever closer to the spot just beneath its chest, and Jihoon realises he’s going to be useless, so far away.

He sprints past the open field and means to position himself on Daniel’s opposite side as a distraction when he hears him call out.

“Jihoon!” he shouts. “Aim for its throat!” 

“Throat?” Jihoon shouts back, perplexed and panicked at the same time. “It’s covered in scales—what on Earth for?” 

“Just do it!”

Hearing the conviction in Daniel's voice, Jihoon does exactly as he says, aiming for the creature’s jugular and letting his arrow sail through the air. The arrow bounces off its scaly neck, as he’s expected—but instead of pouncing the amphiptere’s writhing even more erratically as it twists to find the intruder. It dips down, as if bracing for a pounce; its one eye suddenly locks in on Jihoon, its mouth curled up in a wicked snarl.

Just then a sharp howl pierces the air, and the beast rises on its hind legs again—there’s the hilt of a sword sticking out of its chest, and directly below, Daniel has his arms raised, hands weaponless. Jihoon realises in panic that he is complete, dangerously defenseless.

“Daniel!”

His legs are too slow—the beast’s lashes out for one last swing and Daniel catches the end of it, thrown off to a nearby tree by the sharp jerk of the amphiptere’s claw.

With one last shriek, the beast stumbles on its hind legs and collapses on its side, where it lies still as death. There is a hissing noise from where the sword buried deep in its chest is beginning to melt, but Jihoon pays it no heed—he runs to Daniel’s slumped form, pulling him up and resting him on his back on Jihoon’s thighs.

“Daniel!” Jihoon slaps his cheeks. “Please tell me you’re awake.”

Daniel lets out a groan, and Jihoon laughs in relief.

“Ow,” he says. “I’m—getting nauseous.”

“You saved my life.”

“I saved _our_ lives.”

Jihoon swallows the lump in his throat. "I will not forget this.”

“Why not? But you would have saved mine, if the roles were reversed.”

Something warm hits Jihoon’s open palm—he looks down to see a pool of blood collecting on his hand, dripping down from where it’s gushing forth from a slash near Daniel’s shoulder and collarbone. “Oh, no—god. You’re hurt.” 

“Yeah, it hurts.” Daniel winces, then groans. “I can’t feel my arm.”

“I’m calling for the horses—they shouldn’t be too far away, they should be able to hear my whistle if I go to the clearings. The knights should be here soon, too. Hang in there.”

“Jihoon, if I die—“

“Oh, for god’s sake, save your theatrics.” He tries to rip through the chainlink top, past the arming coat and Daniel’s underclothes to wrap his wound with the cloth he’s ripped off his own tunic, hands shaking as he applies pressure and voice trembling as he lies through his teeth. “It’s only a small gash.”

“Your Highness—“ Daniel wrestles out of Jihoon’s grip clumsily, groaning as he drops down onto one knee.

Startled, Jihoon tries to steady him with a grip on his shoulder, but only succeeds in being drawn closer by Daniel’s waiting hands. “What in the world—Daniel, get ahold of yourself—“

“Jihoon, if I don’t survive this,” he gasps. “You must know that I pledge allegiance only to the Park crest. My loyalty lies with you,” he brings Jihoon’s hand closer to his lips, “and you alone.”

When Daniel’s presses a gentle, soft kiss on the back of Jihoon’s hand, it feels electric from the tip of his fingers all the way to his head. Jihoon is rendered speechless, not expecting the sudden oath, and all the emotions he’s tried to repress for the past several weeks comes back in full force.

Daniel slumps forwards, unconscious, and Jihoon selfishly thanks him for passing out so he’s saved from having to reply.

The memory of Daniel’s lips on his hand, however, remains even after he’s blown out the candle to his room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, the wound isn’t as bad as both of them thought—and back home, Daniel been taught to make no minor injury a setback.

This is the pathetic excuse he tries to give Jihoon whenever he hobbles out of his bed to prepare for the knights’ usual briefing in the jousting fields. It’s adorable, the way Daniel twists Jihoon’s words to make being subject to bedrest seem like a violation of some sort of noble’s code, and Jihoon has to suppress his laughter when he shoves Daniel back down on the bed for probably the fifteenth time that day. 

“Nonsense. You’re staying here. That’s an _order_ ,” he tries his best to glare when Daniel moves to protest (again), and is rewarded by a kicked-puppy look. He crosses his arms and plants his feet on the ground beside Daniel’s bed. “If I see you leave these quarters, your bedrest will be extended to _three_ days.”

“Let me speak to Physician Daehwi,” insists Daniel. “He must be so disappointed in you, imprisoning a clearly healthy knight indoors when his healing draught would be more than enough.”

“Actually, he’s told me to give you _five days,_  so two days’ bedrest is a generous compromise already, _Sir Daniel_.”

That shuts Daniel up quickly, and the bright red spots blooming on Daniel’s cheeks only serve to fuel the triumphant feeling in Jihoon’s chest until he feels he can run on the emotion alone all day. They’ve been doing this for a while now—small banters that some would call flirting, but they never take it too far. Just enough to drive the other on the edge of embarrassment, pulling away quickly before something unintentionally falls.

“I’ll be back to check on you after lunchtime,” promises Jihoon. “You better be here when I get back."

And Daniel _is_ in his bed by the time Jihoon returns, much to his surprise—though the feeling doesn’t last for long when Daniel hands him a small bunch of wild flowers, a few stalks that look wilted but make Jihoon’s heart beat as if they were the world’s rarest treasures all the same.

“You really don’t listen to orders,” grumbles Jihoon through the grin he can’t stow away. He brings the flowers to his nose, trying to smell them, and comes away hacking instead. “They smell like _dirt_.”

“Hey! It was difficult enough trying to sneak out while Jinyoung’s practically hovering in front of my door the entire day, the least you can say is thanks.” A moue forms on Daniel’s lips, and Jihoon realises he’s _pouting_ —his most accomplished knight is _pouting_. And worse, all Jihoon feels is the sudden urge to kiss that very same pout.

He bats the thought away with a laugh that is probably too loud, grabs Daniel’s wrist in an attempt to mockingly kiss the back of his hand—and stops when he notices something.

Daniel is wearing a bracelet, its wooden surface carved with symbols Jihoon immediately recognises. He feels his heart thud loudly.

“Why do you have that?”

“Oh—uh.” Daniel quickly pulls his hand away and curls his fists around the cover, hiding the bracelet from view. His smile is tight. “It’s a present from one of the traders in Pledisbury. Traditional to the village, said he made it himself.”

Wrong. Jihoon knows the inscriptions come from an ancient language spoken in the village of Mmoxvar.

He’s seen it worn by the servant girls in the castle.

 

 

* * *

 

“No response from Lord Kang?” 

“None yet, sire.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And a toast, of course, for Sir Daniel, who single-handedly slayed the amphiptere and brought peace back to Maroovale. To his good health!”

The crowd repeats the chant, breaks off in a symphony of laughter, claps and clinking, and Jihoon sits back down.

“But I didn’t _single-handedly_ slay the Amphiptere, Jihoon,” Daniel whispers to him. “You played a part in it, too.”

Jihoon gives him a look, smiles and raises his glass once again hoping Daniel gets the message: _drink up and shut up_. “You can’t stop complaining when someone tries to compliment you, can you? Know when you’re being praised, Daniel, and bask in it while you have the chance.” 

The celebration feast and ball are as grand and lavish as everyone had imagined it to be—the long, horseshoe-shaped dining tables are brimming with meats and cheeses and fruits Daniel insists never set eyes on before despite his father’s riches. Jesters and entertainers come and go, and many guests pass by the knights’ row to give their thanks and respect. But amongst the well-dressed dames and duchesses or lords and dukes who have traveled from halfway across the country to take part in these celebrations, Jihoon finds his eyes repeatedly drawn to none other than the knight who’s occupied the seat beside him, shining in his celebratory tunic, red cape, and a smile that, whenever Jihoon meets his eyes, seems to light up brighter than when the fire-breather performs his tricks, illuminating the room with a warm, orange glow.

It’s almost enough to push down the uncomfortable feeling crawling up Jihoon’s gut whenever he catches sight of Daniel’s wooden bracelet around his wrist— _why won’t he take the damn thing off?_ —but not enough, so he simply downs the rest of his drink and tries to remember that it’s a night for celebration, not incessant worrying.

After dinner, they move to the ballroom where the royal guests and knights alike are given the chance to mingle—though evidently there is less interest in equal mingling and more of asphyxiating Daniel with the royals guest’s excessive interest in the young and accomplished knight. Saving him from this incredibly stifling attention is the justification Jihoon makes with himself for keeping their arms looped together not ten minutes later. Not that Daniel seems to mind. In fact, he seems genuinely enthused to be introduced to more nobles and lords, probably more than he can care to remember, but his enthusiasm and genuine responses never cease for a second.

At times, Jihoon tries to squeeze his hand or smile at him—anything to reassure Daniel that he's keeping him around for pleasant company rather than as a trophy of his army’s success to be paraded around. From Daniel’s returning caress on the back of his hand, Jihoon thinks the sentiment comes across pretty well.

They’re rounding a corner of the ballroom when he spots something in the corner of his vision.

“Oh, god,” Jihoon gasps suddenly, leaping from his spot to hide behind a pillar and dragging Daniel along with him. “That’s King Minhyun of Nuestborne and his Knight Commander.”

“What—is he… an important ally?”

“Not just that. He’s also one of the most respected Kings on this land, Daniel! He rules with a clear conscience, a warm heart and—I’m quoting the people here, these are not my words—is able to calm the most turbulent hearts with his dashing good looks.”

“Are you sure those are the people’s words?”

Jihoon is too busy peeking over the pillar to take heed of Daniel’s jab. “Dear lord, he’s coming over—quick, Daniel, how do I look?”  

When he turns around to face the knight, Daniel’s smile turns from teasing to soft. “Exactly the same as usual."

“Then it’s not good enough!” Jihoon groans in despair. “But it will have to do—he’s coming over—quick. Relax and remain _composed_.” 

Expecting Daniel to obey immediately like he usually does, Jihoon nearly leaps out of his skin when the taller bends down instead to whisper in his ear, “No thank you, Your Highness, I think it’s time you enjoyed your night alone.”

“Daniel!” he hisses, but it’s too late because Daniel is already walking away with a laugh, winking over his shoulder and a big grin on his face instead. So lost in the threats he’s listing off of in his head for Daniel, Jihoon pathetically misses King Minhyun’s greeting.

“Your Highness? Seongwoo, does he seem alright? He looks like he’s seen—"

“King Minhyun!” Later, Jihoon will insist he let out a noise of surprise and _not_ a squeak, but for now he clears his throat in an attempt to compose himself like he’s promised before. “What an honour that you're able to make it tonight.”

King Minhyun is tall, but not in an intimidating way that makes one feel small. Rather, his aura is inviting, the crown circling his head of dark hair like a lighthouse in a night’s storm. There is grace in his poise and when he speaks, Jihoon can’t help but lean forward, wanting to hear more of his smooth, warm voice.

“It would be a shame to miss it—and I’m not just talking about the feast. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Jihoon. Last time we met, I haven’t even been coronated,” he smiles, and Jihoon understands now, what the people mean when they say his smile has the power to cure all illnesses of the heart. 

“Indeed, it’s been quite a while.”

Minhyun seems to remember something, and pulls his companion closer. “Ah, how rude of me; Jihoon, I’d like you to meet Sir Seongwoo, my Knight Commander.”

As if being caught off-guard by the King’s presence isn’t enough, Jihoon feels the rug being pulled from under his feet for a second time when a flurry of purple cape steps forwards to take his hand. In close proximity, Sir Seongwoo is a man whose smile stretches from ear-to-ear and eyes curve pleasantly when he bares his teeth;whose skin seems endlessly luminous, only interrupted by the small scatter of moles on his left cheek. His voice is lively when he says, “Truly a pleasure, Your Highness!”

“It is all mine.” Jihoon shakes his head to disenchant himself from the show-stealing man before him to backtrack a question he’s had on the tip of his tongue. “Sorry, I seem to have missed it. Sir Seongwoo of—?” 

“Just Sir Seongwoo.” His smile is softer now, as if this is a detail he’s had to go over quite a few times in his interactions. “I grew up in the lower towns of Nuestborne. Before I became a knight, I was the blacksmith’s son.”

“Amongst other things, that is,” adds Minhyun, a playful lilt to his tone. Seongwoo presses a finger to his lips in response.

“Don’t scare the Prince of Maroovale off on my first meeting with him, Minhyun!”

The uncomfortable feeling is back—the dread that pools in his gut, making Jihoon nauseous as he blinks in an attempt to concentrate. “I’m sorry—the blacksmith’s son…?”

“Is there a problem, my Lord?” Minhyun’s smile stays disarmingly charming, but the glint in his eyes tells Jihoon that his relationship with Sir Seongwoo goes far beyond respect. “He may not come from a noble background, but I can assure you Sir Seongwoo is the best fighter the kingdom has seen.”

“No! Not at all, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jihoon waves his hands quickly, wishing to dispel the misunderstanding. “It’s just—I was surprised. You carry yourself with such… finesse and grace, I would never have guessed.”

Seongwoo gives him a warm smile. Jihoon doesn’t try to make it obvious, but he notices the placating hand Seongwoo has on Minhyun’s as if telling him to stand down. He wonders, not for the first time that night, of the dynamics their relationship possesses.

“I believe nobility is not limited to birthright and is mostly, instead, a quality. I think it can come from anywhere, sire. Though I understand, my circumstancs are—ah, quite extraordinary,” he chuckles. “I have learned to deal with the surprises.”

A young-looking, well-groomed duke encroaches their small circle and requests for Sir Seongwoo’s company, to which he nods before turning to Minhyun with a raised eyebrow.

“Shall I entertain him?” he mutters quietly out of the noble’s earshot. Minhyun rolls his eyes in reply.

“You make it seem like he’s vouching for more than a couple of seconds of conversation with you. Give him a minute to listen and he’ll be running far, far away.”

“That’s the plan,” Seongwoo winks, before bowing slightly to Jihoon with another smile. “Again, a pleasure, sire, and I hope we may converse in length another time.”

“If Jihoon can put up with you, that is,” laughs Minhyun as Jihoon bows in response.

Once Seongwoo is nowhere to be seen, Jihoon steps closer and says, quietly, “Forgive me for prying but… I was wondering; what about the knight’s code?”

“You must know that the knight’s code is just that—a code, a law. And no law in the history of mankind is set in stone. Seongwoo is… the best knight I could have ever asked for.” He seems troubled, as if deciding whether to tell Jihoon or not, and ends up giving him a mysterious smile instead. “A word of advice from me, Jihoon. When you truly care about something, Jihoon… you will always find yourself putting up a fight for it. And when that time arrives, allow yourself to do so.”

 

 

* * *

 

By the time Daniel’s finished clapping alone to Jaehwan’s impromptu serenade (admittedly, he’s able to see the appeal in the knight’s voice now), Jihoon is nowhere to be seen in the ballroom. After a panicked moment of searching, he finds the prince alone in the outdoor balcony of the ballroom, hidden away from attention behind the curtained double glass doors.

“Jihoon?” he asks, softly, but still too loud in the silence, if the smaller man's small jump is anything to go by.

“Oh—Daniel,” he smiles. It’s a distracted one. “Had a good time?”

“Not as much as I would have if you were with me,” he teases, expecting an indignant reply but only met with more silence. Confused, he walks over to peek over Jihoon’s shoulder from where he’s sitting by the ledge of the balcony that overlooks the palace gardens below.

There’s no denying the troubled look in Jihoon’s eyes no matter how much he tries to hide it with a nonchalant smile, so Daniel joins him on the balcony instead.

“What about you?” he asks gently. “Not having such a good time?”

Jihoon shakes his head, eyes dropping down to their hands, and Daniel realises both are splayed on the curve of the balcony—so close, that all he has to do is twitch a finger for them to touch.

“I’m just—thinking.” 

“Don’t waste this amazing feast _thinking_ , Jihoon. All your guests would be delighted to be given a few seconds of your time. There are plenty of beautiful dames lining up to dance with you.” 

“I’m not interested in the dames.”

Daniel grins. “Ah, then perhaps King Minhyun? I’m sure he’d be able to teach you a few steps or so…”

“I am not interested in the dames nor King Minhyun,” replies Jihoon with such conviction that it takes Daniel aback. “You keep bringing them up. If you’re so keen on dancing with them, you’re free to do just that.” 

“I didn’t say that.” It’s ridiculous. How can Jihoon think Daniel has his eyes set on anyone else when he’s sitting right here in front of him, glowing in the moonlight like an ethereal being lost in the plains of the Earth? Of course, he keeps such thoughts to himself, instead saying, “I am not interested in dancing with the dames either.”

When Jihoon looks up there’s a kind of defiance in his eyes. Maybe he’s at conflict—but whatever it is, he’s not letting Daniel know. “Then who takes your fancy?”  

“I’m not sure it’d be appropriate—he’d probably say no.”

“Reaching conclusions without prior attempts is bad practice. You won’t know unless you try.”

It’s phrased like an advice, but Daniel knows all too well by now that Jihoon means it as a challenge. Maybe it’s the pleasant buzz from the wine he’s sipped on, or perhaps it's the rush of adrenaline he feels from realising his admiration may not have been as one-sided as he’s wont to think in solitude. Whatever it may be, it is making Daniel feels recklessly brave—so he winds an arm around Jihoon’s waist and reels him in slowly, bringing their bodies flush together.

“Then, Jihoon, dance with me.”

Jihoon draws in a sharp breath. Daniel smiles.

“Is that a request or a command?”

“Which one do you want it to be?”

The hands on Daniel’s back tighten their grip, and Jihoon replies, “A request, because then I can reply with: thought you’d never ask.”

Daniel throws his head back to laugh, and begins to sway along to an inaudible music, shuffling along until he and the prince find a common rhythm. “Must I always be the one to take initiative?”

“No,” Jihoon grins. “But I like seeing you take them.”

They continue like that for a while, just enjoying being in close proximity of each other, Jihoon’s chin resting lightly on Daniel’s shoulder like it belongs there. When he pulls back, their faces are startlingly close—Daniel finds his eyes fleeting from Jihoon’s eyes to the pretty curve of his nose to the corner of his soft, pink lips.

A smirk, and one of Jihoon’s hand splays across the back of Daniel’s nape. “Capable of single-handedly bringing an amphiptere down, but can’t even kiss a boy?”

“The beast is easy to capture,” Daniel murmurs, his gaze slipping down to Jihoon’s lips. “Your heart, on the other hand…”

He hears Jihoon inhale sharply—and then the hand on his nape is pulling him ever closer, so close his eyes flutter shut against their will.

“You already have it.” 

Jihoon tastes a little like the chocolate he always sneakily nibbles on when he thinks no one is looking—sweet, but with a sharp taste that Daniel will later distinctively associate with him. He finds his fingers tangling in Jihoon’s hair through no direct thought of his own, and moans when Jihoon does the same—except he’s a little forceful, a little commanding in the way he tugs at Daniel’s hair to tilt his head to the side so he can kiss even deeper, tongue lapping at the seams of Daniel’s mouth until he grants entry. And when Jihoon licks the roof of his mouth, tantalising slow, Daniel’s hips stutter out of his will. The hand around Jihoon’s waist tightens instinctively, pressing them up impossibly closer together, and Daniel expects Jihoon to wrestle away for some space but instead he’s winding an arm around Daniel’s neck, pulling him in some more, arches up so their hips meet with unbearable pressure.

“You drive me crazy,” he whines into Daniel’s mouth, perhaps the most attractive noise he’s ever heard, especially from someone as guarded as Jihoon. He can’t take it—he trembles as he feels his back meet the railing of the balcony, and it must be obvious because Jihoon is suddenly pulling away. Daniel tries to chase after his lips—puffy, red, slick with spit—but Jihoon places a palm on his chest and keeps him in place.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“It’s cold,” Daniel lies. Anything to hide the fact that Jihoon is sending his every corner of his body into overdrive.

“My chambers,” Jihoon sounds breathless, and Daniel grows dizzy to think _he’s_ the cause of _that_. “It’s getting late, anyway. The guests won’t miss me.”

This is another lie—the guests will surely wonder, but no one dares intrude on the prince’s private affairs if he commands the guards outside his chambers so. At least they’re even now.

They manage to appear engaged in a serious conversation about matters of high importance as they walk past the guards to Jihoon’s chambers—but the second the door is shut, Daniel’s back hits the wooden surface and he moans when Jihoon immediately latches onto his neck.

“Be quiet,” Jihoon hisses, Daniel’s skin between his teeth. “They’ll hear you otherwise.”

“You’re—so _intense_ —“

Jihoon pulls away, blinking owlishly. “Do you want me to stop?”

“God, _no_.”

“Good,” he says, before dipping down and tracing Daniel’s jawline with his teeth and lips again. Daniel clutches at his hair, tries not to buck up in response to the love bites Jihoon is surely leaving behind, and miserably fails.

“ _Daniel—_ “ Jihoon’s voice is strained when he slips a leg between Daniel’s and grinds on his thigh, letting out a series of soft pants as he repeats the movements—torturously slow at first, then faster as Daniel finds purchase on his hips and mirrors the action. “Daniel—wait. Bed. _Now_.”  

He’s pulled towards the massive bed in the middle of the room and is unceremoniously pushed onto it. There’s something that Daniel’s never heard in Jihoon’s voice before as he whispers his name repeatedly, grabbing at his light ceremonial tunic and untying the cape from around his neck like they’re running out of time—belatedly, he realises that this must be what desperation sounds on the prince’s tongue. 

He shuffles backwards until his back meets the headboard, heart racing a mile a minute. “Sire—“

“God, _please_ don’t start. Especially not now. It’s Jihoon.” He leans in until their lips are barely touching, feels the shudder of breath fanning across his face as Daniel’s breathing steadily picks up pace. “ _Jihoon._ Say it.”

“Jihoon…”

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” he groans, like Daniel’s done a lot more than call out his name. He pulls Daniel's tunic off of him and throws the red cape aside—there’s hunger in Jihoon’s eyes. He chuckles. “I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my knight.”

Daniel flushes, and immediately feels embarrassed by the way his legs have splayed open against his will as they made out. “I’m sorry—I can just—let me get my shirt again, I can get dressed in a—”

Jihoon yanks Daniel’s trousers to roll him over on top, trapping him with a possessive hold.

“It was a statement, not a refusal.”

Daniel squeaks a little. “Are you sure?”

“There's no law against this, you know. It just feels… well, just feels unorthodox, is all.” 

“And you’d want to do that?”

Daniel’s voice is so low and quiet that Jihoon almost misses the question. “Want to do what?” 

“You know…” Daniel’s eyes flit away. “Sleep with me.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, and instead of acknowledging his question with an answer leans back down to kiss the breath out of him.

“You drive me crazy, you and your stupidity.” He arches up so their crotches brush together. Through the cotton trousers, Daniel can feel Jihoon’s erection against his, and he gasps both in delight and surprise. “Have I placated your worries enough?"

It’s a little clumsy—there is only fragrant oil, and Daniel can’t stop giggling at the floral smell as he works one, two fingers into Jihoon. But the giggles soon turn into moans of ecstasy that escape him no matter how hard he tries to hold back—with Jihoon so pliant underneath him, so warm and tight around his cock and his cheeks dusted pink with pleasure, Daniel’s thrusts quickly grow erratic. It doesn’t help that Jihoon’s taken to whispering his name right into his ear, raking nails down his back and shoving his tongue back in his mouth like he’s trying to fuck Daniel the same way he’s being fucked. It’s overwhelming, and the only consolation for how quick he comes is that Jihoon reaches his climax not long after, too.

After they manage to catch their breath again—not as quickly as their jousting session, fortunately—Daniel means to slip away, but the hold on his arm tightens and he looks back to find Jihoon staring up at him.

“Stay here,” he murmurs—and how can Daniel deny him of such a request? Guard’s inevitable inquisitiveness be damned. He can pretend he fell asleep in some corner of the castle to the other knights if they ask, anyway.

Daniel's only lamentation is that he wishes Jihoon doesn’t just mean for him to stay only the night, but forever, if possible.

 

* * *

 

“Sir, we have a reply from Lord Kang of Pledisbury.”

Jihoon laughs despite being in the company of his ministers, unable to stop himself—everything feels funnier lately, even during a roundtable meeting such as this one.

“At last! Though a little _too_ late, don’t you think? Why, the time has already come for us to send _another_ congratulatory correspondence for his son’s killing of the terrible beast!” he grins. “Well, then? Tell us!”

“Sir,” Jinyoung squeaks, looking uncomfortable. “I believe it would be in your best interest to discuss this in private.”

“It’s alright, it’s a week for celebration. The more the merrier.”

“Sir—“

“I insist, Jinyoung.”

He seems to be drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “Very well, sire. The letter you sent caused some confusion in the household, which delayed the response from the Lord himself.”

Jihoon’s pen stops and the smile slips off his face. He feels like someone has pushed him off a cliff into the icy depths of a deep, neverending well. All eyes of his ministers pin him down; his heart beats quicker.

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung blinks quickly. “I’m afraid—I’m afraid Sir Daniel has not been truthful as to who he is, Sire. Lord Kang knows of no sixth son."

 

* * *

 

 

In the preceding days since their night together, Daniel finds himself lost in his thoughts more often, spacing out for several minutes at a time only to find his own fingers on his lips when he’s brought back to the present. The ghost of Jihoon’s lips haunt him everywhere all over his body in the best possible way, lingering like a dream that continues even after he’s woken up. Nothing comes close, however, to the feeling of his lips—the way Jihoon’s become pliant under his, the insistent nips he trails down Daniel’s neck, the tongue that seems to caress Daniel’s own, like coaxing it into a dance—

Daniel’s daydreams are interrupted by his door being swung open abruptly, and though alarmed, immediately bounces in his seat when he sees Jihoon walk through the doors into his room, guards at his side.

“Jihoon, I was just thinking of—”

He stops, because Jihoon is in his room but he won’t meet Daniel’s eyes. Because now that Daniel’s been rudely pulled out of his fantasies, he realises that there are guards standing at Jihoon's side. And that he is pale. His face is distraught. He is holding back tears.

“What…what are they doing here? Jihoon, are you crying? What’s going o—"

“Guards,” Jihoon says quietly—so different from the commanding voice he usually employs. “Arrest him.”

“W-Wait.” Strong, harsh hands grip at his arms and pull him away from the chair he’s been sitting on—Daniel feels like he’s being ripped away instead. “What did I—“

“Sir Daniel, you have been arrested for charges of forgery and—and impersonation.”

His blood freezes all over.

This is where it ends. And he hasn’t even had a chance to tell Jihoon—

“Wait, you have to let me—“ 

“For this, you have committed treason—”

Jihoon is frowning at the floor and Daniel wishes he would just _look up_. “No—“

“The punishment—“

“—No, _please_ , let me explain—“  

“Punishment for treason is death by hanging.”

Jihoon finally looks up, but now Daniel wishes he hasn’t. There is something foreign in Jihoon’s eyes, an emotion Daniel’s never seen on his face before—and it is only when Jihoon lets out a noise of distress, a noise that’s escaped the self-control usually wound so tightly around himself, that Daniel realises it’s panic. Unfiltered, raw panic; distress in every motion his eyes make.

“You—you will—“ his voice breaks off with a choke, and Jihoon closes his eyes and bites his lip in an attempt to stop crying. He’s a second too late. “You will be punished by the laws of this land—“

The sentence breaks off on a wretched sob. The guards are still on Daniel’s sides, and even he can do nothing but breathe heavily, helpless in the face of Jihoon’s obvious pain and the guards’ relentless grip.

“I can’t do this,” he says finally, gasping as he looks out the window. His lips, now red and raw from his teeth’s abuse, match his red-rimmed eyes, filled with so much despair it tears Daniel’s heart apart. He says again, quieter, “I can’t do this.”

The tense silence that follows only heightens Daniels’ need to run to Jihoon. He wants to take Jihoon in his arms and beg for forgiveness, promise him that his intentions have stayed true from the start; to give his life protecting the kingdom and the villages, to give his life protecting _Jihoon,_ to whom he’s realised somewhere along the way that he’s willing to give his heart away, too.

“A trial will be held for you, and you will learn of your fate by dawn,” says Jihoon at last. His eyes are wide in pain, mouth set in a thin line. “Do _not_ leave your room.”

Jihoon's cape billows behind him as he turns to leave—and if anyone notices that the order sounds more like a plea, no one says anything.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon is angry.

He is angry at the ministers who won’t leave him alone, who are immediately calling for Daniel’s execution, offended that the throne of Maroovale and its constituents have been treated as a fool for so long. He is angry at the stupid, discriminatory rule of the knight’s code that discounts someone so harshly despite their achievements, all because they were born of anything other than noble blood.

He is angry at Daniel for lying to him; angry at Daniel for making it so believable, that Jihoon would swear up and down he’s more worthy of the title of a knight than a hundred nobles would ever hope to be.

But mostly Jihoon is angry at himself—for all that he’s promised not to do, he’s allowed himself to rule not with the clarity of his mind, but with the love for a simple, sincere man he’s come to harbour in the vulnerable recesses of his heart.

 

* * *

 

“Father. A brave man has saved our kingdom from great danger. He has… skilled hands, quick feet, a clear mind and a warm heart. But he has committed a crime that even I cannot excuse; he has broken the code that every knight swear an oath upon, and for that I know he is in the wrong.

“But despite all he’s done, the people are unforgiving. There is already talk of a traitor within the castle walls—that this is only one of many deceptions to come, that we cannot trust everyone who walks through the gates anymore. It’s shaken them, no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise.

“If I let him stay by my side, father, I may risk ruining all you have built on this land. But if I let him die—then I, too, would die with him, because I love him. Daniel would never hurt an innocent soul, he is incapable of evil, and I want to change the laws to let him live because I love him. 

“Please say something,” his voice is muffled now, as if the sobs are being held back by a sleeve or a pillowcase. “ _Anything_.”

The hurt in Jihoon’s voice is enough to make Daniel step back from the gaping door and slip away, into the darkness of the hallways and back to his room.

He makes up his mind. He’s heard all he needed to hear.

 

* * *

 

When Jihoon comes back to find Daniel standing in his room with the dresser drawer open, he knows something is wrong. 

“What are you doing?” His eyes latch on to the white envelope in Daniel’s hand, which he stalks over to snatch out of his hands without warning. “What is this?” 

Daniel makes to take it back, but Jihoon is swift. “No—no wait, don’t read it—“

“You’ve addressed it to me, have you not?” Jihoon says, completely ignoring Daniel’s plea by ripping the neat envelope apart. “Wouldn’t make sense for me not to read it—“

Jihoon only manages to read the first line of Daniel’s careful, inky handwriting before everything starts to blur together—but a few words jump at him, in his hazy panic: ‘ _conflict_ ’, ' _honour’, ’safety’,_ ' _the people’, ’the kingdom’,_ ‘ _leaving_ ’—

“I meant now,” says Daniel in a quiet voice. “Don’t read it now.”

“You—” Jihoon’s breathing comes in quick succession—his chest constricts, and he suddenly feels breathless. “You’re leaving?”

Daniel steps closer. “You know it’s for the best.”

Jihoon backs away. “Don’t you—how _dare_ you decide what’s best for the Kingdom—“

“I’m not,” Daniel says. “I’m deciding what’s best for you.”

“Even worse,” seethes Jihoon with gritted teeth, his hands starting to shake with the anger crashing onto him like waves against cliffs. “Daniel—you do not get to decide things for me.”

“I do if such decisions involve _me_.”

“You have no right to give me orders.”

“And I am giving you none—I choose a path only for myself.”

“In doing so, you are ordering me to release you, and I _refuse_.” He knows he sounds desperate now, but Jihoon is past caring. “I am the _prince_!"

Daniel smiles, like Jihoon’s sword is now his and he has won the joust. “I know. And I know that you’re facing a divide between your people and you, the prince. That’s exactly why I’m choosing to do this.”

“Please,” he croaks out. “Daniel, I said I’d make time until dawn. I can change the law for you. I was going to convince the ministers to give you a pardon—please.”

“If slaying the amphiptere was not enough to win their favours, sire, then with all due respect—“

“Don’t. _Call_ me that.”

“Then with all due respect, Jihoon,” Daniel's voice breaks at his name, “None of your words will convince them otherwise.”

“Then I can change it by force.” 

“No, you cannot.” His voice is stern, but there is deep, deep sadness in his eyes that render him soft. “Jihoon—listen. You are going to be a great King. But you cannot do that if you are seen bending the rules to fulfill selfish desires. You run the Kingdom not for yourself, but for your people.”

Defeat settles in—Jihoon feels weak, wrecked with inexplicable grief. “Do you not want to stay here with me?” he whispers.

And here Jihoon finally sees the brave fronts Daniel is putting on crack like weak eggshells—the hurt bleeds out and drips onto his face, at first just a wince, and then an outright effort to stop tears from slipping out.

“You know I want that more than anything. God, even more than my _life_.”

“Then why won’t you let me give it to you—“

“—because I want to see you grow into the great King you were meant to be even more than I want that,” Daniel insists. “And for that to happen you can't have your people lose trust in your decisions. You said it yourself,” he chuckles as if remembering a fond memory. “You cannot be seen as a ruler who bends the rules at whim—especially at the whims of your heart.”

“But it feels even worse like this,” Jihoon whispers. “It feels even worse letting you go.” 

Daniel looks away. “It will pass. That feeling—it will pass, and things will change.”

“How long will it take?” he presses, even though he knows it’s unfair—Daniel doesn’t know the answer either. “When will things change?”

“Soon. I promise,” Daniel tries his best to grin. Jihoon realises he is always trying his best; even now, when his heart is being split in two. “I’ll show the Kingdom what great fighters people of the lower town can be. Let the word spread. Then people will be begging to change the laws of their own accord—and then,” he grins, “Maybe I can steal the spot of one of your darling knights instead.” 

“There will always be a spot for you,” and Jihoon means more than just by the throne as a knight, and he thinks Daniel knows that too because his smiles turns into a tender one. He reaches for Jihoon’s hand, places a kiss on the back of it. 

“Thank you,” he says. “And you will always have my heart.” 

This is what Jihoon both love and hate about Daniel—the way he somehow always outdoes everyone in his sincerity, the brazen way with which he pours all his love and devotion for someone without a single regard to protect his own feelings. The way he is willing to hurt himself in order to protect others, physically, mentally—in all senses of the word.

Minhyun told him that if he really cared about something, he’d find a way and fight for it. Jihoon is beginning to think that Minhyun is mistaken—everyone will find a way to fight, but not everyone can win. Here, Jihoon realises, Daniel has triumphed over him once again.

He bites his lip, then thinks better of it and pulls Daniel in for a kiss instead, biting on his bottom lip and tries to memorise the way it feels under his teeth and tongue, the ways Daniel lets him cradle his jaw and submits to his ministrations, always so trusting even when Jihoon’s incompetence takes over. He tries to remember every second of Daniel’s returning kiss, so tender and slow and soft it makes it hard for his heart to work properly.  

“Where will you go now?” 

“Back home,” Daniel smiles. “Mmoxvar. You should ride through it, sometime. It’s a lovely place. I’ll introduce you to my friends and my mother.”

 “Maybe I will.”

“I’ll be back, the same as ever.” _My love for you will not be diminished even a little bit._

“I’ll be waiting.” _There will not be a day where I do not think of you_. “If you dare take long, I will have you in the stocks.”

“Have me in the stocks? Didn’t take you as one for indecency, _Your Majesty,_ ” says Daniel coyly, caressing the back of Jihoon’s head and cradling it ever so gently. Jihoon will never be tired of the look in his eyes as he stares at Jihoon’s face—as if he’s built the kingdom with his very own hands, and saved the best piece of land for him and him alone. “You have my word.”  

Jihoon presses another kiss on his nose, reluctantly pulling away before whispering, “I know I have not made it clear, but I love you. Daniel, I am truly, madly in love with you.”

Daniel whines and presses one, two, three more kisses on his lips like he can’t get enough. “You have made it clear plenty. Otherwise I would not do this.” One more. “I love you, Jihoon. I love you more than you know.”

Daniel refuses Jihoon’s offer to accompany him to the stables, but reassures him that he’ll take his pick of the finest stallion. Jihoon watches him ride away from the wood-paneled glass of his bedroom window in a half-stupor, wishing to wake up from a terrible nightmare.

In the morning, he’ll have to turn the castle upside down in fury, will have to question every guard in the hallways for the prisoner who’s fled the grounds. He’d have to address the ministers in deep resignation about the security mishaps, even when they listen on in disbelief, Jihoon’s red-rimmed eyes not escaping their attention even for a second. He will have to refuse the sleeping draught Daehwi tries to make him drink, even when he secretly wishes to fall into a deep sleep until Daniel's return.

But while nightfall is still upon him, Jihoon rests his head on the windowsill, closes his eyes, and tries to rewind every conversation they’ve had and every kiss they’ve shared—memories of Daniel that he will hang onto even when he reaches his final resting place. For now, they will carry him through the hours before dawn breaks, bringing forth a new day in the kingdom he feels unprepared to uphold on his lone set of shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> nielwink is quite!! difficult to write and i’m new at writing for them so any concrit/feedback would be greatly appreciated! thank you for sticking this far........
> 
> PLEASE CHECK OUT [THIS PHENOMENAL FANART](https://twitter.com/cheesehoonie/status/1070629952477745154?s=19) @cheesehoonie DREW FOR THIS FIC thank you so so much, you kind soul ;; what did i do to deserve!!!


End file.
